


For You the Bugle Trills

by SheKillsCacti



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Adventure, Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:50:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheKillsCacti/pseuds/SheKillsCacti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin appears to have fallen in love with his former First Officer, who has gotten himself on the wrong side of some dangerous people. He is out of immediate danger, but good things never last...</p>
            </blockquote>





	For You the Bugle Trills

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to Miss_L's fic. She practically forced me to write this, so here we are. The chapters will be short, both to keep in line with the prequel and because otherwise I may never finish this.  
> Unrated because I am not quite sure where I'll be taking this story, but there will most likely be smut in the future. There will definitely be angst, though, probably of the near-death variety (the title may have given you a clue).   
> For You the Bugle Trills can be read as a stand-alone fic, but I suggest you read the prequel first.

Because Martin could not risk drawing attention to the unplanned survivor by calling an ambulance, he drove Douglas to the hospital in his van. They had hardly spoken about the events of the evening. Partly because Douglas was in no condition to speak and partly because Martin did not want to spoil the unexpectedly pleasant mood that came with this turn of events, but as he parked his van on the hospital parking lot he kept the doors closed for a moment. His First Officer was propped up in the passenger’s seat,  underneath a sheet of construction plastic to keep him warm. His eyes were closed, one swollen shut and his breathing was regular but laboured.

            “Is there anything you’ve done, anything the police shouldn’t know?” Martin asked.

Douglas opened his good eye.

            “No,” he rasped.

            “Are you sure?” Martin replied. “Because they’ll want to know what happened, how you got so, so... how you got yourself into a situation where you were tied up, beaten senseless and had to have me rescue you from a burning warehouse.” It _had_ been quite the evening.

Douglas smiled a lopsided smile. “I’d quite like to know that last bit myself.”

            “Yes, well, we’ll get to that. Can you walk? No wait, I’ll go get help. Stay here. Don’t... leave. Don’t leave.” He patted Douglas awkwardly on the shoulder, then got out of the van and ran towards the ER entrance. He returned a minute later with two nurses and a stretcher in tow and watched as they helped Douglas out of the car and onto the stretcher. He stood idling as they worked and ended up putting his hands in his pockets to keep from trying to reach out and help. This was a job for the professionals, he knew that, but he also knew that he did not like other people handling his – his what? His First Officer. His friend. His man-he-went-on-a-very-unsuccesful-date-with,-helped-get-fired,-rescued-from-a-burning-warehouse-where-he-had-been-abducted-to-by-the-mafia,-who-had-saved-his-life-in-return-and-whom-he-had-then-kissed-in-the-grass-outside-said-burning-warehouse. Which was altogether a far too long a term to refer to anyone and which sounded rather like the plot of a late night television film. Douglas. He’d just call him Douglas. Or maybe ‘his Douglas’ in his head.

            As he followed his Douglas into the hospital, a third nurse approached him and steered him off into a corridor, away from the stretcher. Martin’s feet resisted parting with it but the nurse put a firm hand on his shoulder and turned him to face away from the door through with the stretcher disappeared.

            “Can you tell us what happened, sir?” the nurse asked. He was a fair-skinned young man with rather prominent eyebrows.

            “Eh, there was a fire,” Martin stammered. “That is to say there was also a fire. Obviously he didn’t get the black eye from the fire. He got that from the mafia. Oh and the cuts on his arms are from when the roof collapsed.”

            “Right,” the nurse said. “Perhaps you’d better sit down. Do you remember hitting your head?”

            “Yes, when the roof collapsed. No! I mean yes I did hit my head but no I’m not seeing things. It’s not a concussion. There really was a fire and I really did hit my head but I remember very clearly _that_ there was a fire. My- _He_ was kidnapped by the mafia and held in a warehouse near Daventry. When I found him he looked awful but he could walk so I took him with me – the mobsters had left at this point – and that was when I noticed the fire. There was a lot of smoke and the roof collapsed right over my head and he saved me, he pushed me out of the way. Look, his name is Douglas Richardson, look him up in your records or the police records or something. He was kidnapped last night – or yesterday night, I didn’t get much sleep in between – but I found him and he’s okay now. He is okay, isn’t he? Oh you don’t know, of course, you’re here with me and not out there with him so you don’t know any more than I do and I – perhaps I better do sit down.”

He had exhausted himself with talking so fast and he was beginning to feel a little dizzy. Now that everyone was out of immediate danger his lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him. Neither he nor Carolyn and Arthur had slept since they heard their former First Officer had been kidnapped... Carolyn! Arthur! Of course!

            “Is there somewhere I can make a phone call?” he asked the nurse, who eyed him warily. “I need to tell Carolyn that he’s alright. My boss, Carolyn. I need to tell my boss. She’s Douglas’ boss too, or at least she was, but she must be worried. She doesn’t know about the warehouse.”

            “We’ll let her know,” the nurse assured him at a tone that implied that he would do nothing of the sort. “Let’s look at your injuries first, shall we? This bump on your head, does it hurt at all?”

            What happened next was still a bit of a blur to Martin. He remembered feeling extremely anxious about Douglas, wanting to call Carolyn, _not_ wanting to sit down and then a pair of strong arms holding him down and administering a sedative. Then the world went white.


End file.
